A Study in Crimson
by UnattemptedFeat
Summary: There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time.
1. Maroon

**Author's Note: So, if it wasn't obvious, this is a rendition of A Study in Pink. I've taken some creative liberties. One being that the Holmeses had already met John, and they were all already flatmates. Sorry if that disappoints anyone. The twist...It includes Elizabeth! Really, I want to be this girl! Why doesn't it work that way? Why can't we write our own lives? Why can't we write ourselves into the adventures of our fictional characters? Oh, wait. That's exactly what I'm doing right now...**

 **Sigh...**

 **Anyways, without further ado... Thanks for reading!**

Sherlock, Elizabeth, and John were already ready when Lestrade pounced up their steps.

"There's been a fourth suicide," Sherlock observed. "What's different this time?"

"You know how they never leave a note?" Lestrade panted slightly from his exercise. "Well, this one did."

"Say no more," Sherlock led the way out of the flat, excitedly hailing a cab.

"Contain yourself," Elizabeth warned her father when they were seated in the taxi. "Look a little less happy."

"I haven't had a proper distraction in weeks, Elizabeth," Sherlock reminded her, though it wasn't really necessary. In his stint of boredom, Sherlock had blown up a pig's heart, concocted three toxic gases, and managed to get himself wedged between the wall and the couch. Elizabeth hadn't even asked about the last one. "I apologize if my enthusiasm is slightly inappropriate."

"Slightly?" John muttered lowly.

"Just restrain yourself a little," Elizabeth pleaded. "Don't argue with Anderson."

"Tell me he isn't on Forensics!" Sherlock exclaimed. When Elizabeth didn't deny it, he sighed deeply.

They pulled up at the scene. A disgruntled Donovan held up the crime scene tape as the cab passed. Sherlock practically flew out of the cab and into the apartment. He earned himself many glares from the officers present. Elizabeth and John followed with more dignity.

Sherlock was circling the body like a hound when they entered the room. Elizabeth could almost hear his genius brain whirring as he made his deductions. She looked down at the body and began making some of her own.

It was a woman. She was dressed in a bright shade of pink. Elizabeth instantly observed the tarnished ring, mud splashes, manicured hands, and the scratched message. R-A-C-H-E, very intriguing.

"Where's her case?" Sherlock and Elizabeth asked Lestrade simultaneously.

Blinking at their sudden onslaught, Lestrade squinted, "What do you mean? What case?"

Sherlock threw his arms in the air, exasperated. Taking pity on Lestrade and John, Elizabeth explained, "She is a married woman with a string of lovers. She has a job in the media, thus the insanely pink outfit. She came from Cardiff to stay overnight. She didn't freshen her hair and make-up, therefore she hadn't gotten to her hotel yet She would have had a pink case, matching her outfit. Where is the case?"

Lestrade sighed, "There wasn't a case."

Sherlock bolted out of the room.

Following quickly after him, John on her heels, Elizabeth threw over her shoulder, "The murderer would have had to get rid of the case. Also, find Rachel. She's important."

Elizabeth and John raced after Sherlock. It had gotten dark, and they had a bit of a problem finding his black coat in the alleys and gardens. First, Elizabeth lost sight of her father, and then John suddenly disappeared as well.

Oh, well. She wasn't worried about it. She'd just head back to Baker Street and meet up with them there.

Elizabeth found the well-lit, crowded street again and began to walk along the sidewalk. Three minutes later, a sleek, black car pulled up alongside her. Elizabeth smiled and got in.

"Hello, Uncle," Elizabeth slid into the seat across from Mycroft.

"Good evening, Niece," Mycroft actually smiled pleasantly. "I know that you have case at present, but I was wondering if I could have a few moments of your time."

"Mycroft, you don't have to ask. What's up?" Elizabeth's grin faded as her uncle's expression changed to one of worry.

"I am very close to just taking you away this moment," Mycroft said.

"What's going on?" Elizabeth sat straighter in her seat.

"An adversary has emerged," Mycroft replied solemnly. "He's taken an interest in you and Sherlock. He is very dangerous, Elizabeth. You need to take extreme caution."

"Who is he? Does Dad know?" Elizabeth asked quickly.

"I will not tell you his name. All you need to know is that he wants Sherlock to go down. This man wants to tear everything Sherlock loves apart. That includes you, Elizabeth."

"I have to tell, Dad," Elizabeth pulled out her phone.

"No, Elizabeth, you can't," Mycroft grabbed her phone away from her. "If Sherlock knew of this enemy, he would stop at nothing to find him. Sherlock cannot be involved. You have to let me handle this. I won't let anything happen. But I had to tell you. You have to make sure Sherlock stays away from him. Far away. It would be dangerous for all of us if Sherlock were to take matters into his own hands."

"How am I supposed to keep him away from something I hardly know about? How will I know what to do?" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"You will know. He is orchestrating terrible things. He claims to be your biggest fan." Mycroft spoke with something that could almost be described as fear in his voice. Elizabeth had never seen her uncle frightened of anyone or anything before. This adversary must really be someone bad.

"Alright, you have my silence," Elizabeth aquiesced. "And my surveillance. But, Mycroft, if he's threatening me to get to Sherlock, are you safe?"

"You are kind to think of me, dear Niece," Mycroft answered. "But do not fear. I will take care of this. It will be like we never had this conversation."

Elizabeth didn't think that counted as an answer, but she knew that she needed to trust Mycroft. A sudden buzzing cause her uncle to look down.

Handing Elizabeth her mobile, Mycroft said, "It's your father." Elizabeth quickly opened the message.

 _Come to Baker Street if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyways._ -SH


	2. Carmine

**Author's Note: Hiya, good peoples! I hope that everyone is doing well. I've told myself that I can't write anymore one-shots until I've updated some of my multi-chap fics. (Let's see if I hold myself to it.) So look out for an update for: Chemistry, Habits, Jailbirds, Organized Adventures, and Secrets. Also one for Sickness, Stupidity, and Sacrifice. I just didn't want to put it in the last sentence and have to use semi-colons instead of commas. I'm that lazy, guys.**

 **Also, I noticed that I never really said how old Sherlock was when Elizabeth was born. In all of my fics so far, Elizabeth has been fifteen. I'm making Sherlock about twenty-four when she was a baby (that was a hint for a series of one-shots about Elizabeth's childhood: coming soon!). So he's about thirty-nine here then. But, of course, he never acts his age so it really doesn't matter. The relationship between Sherlock and Elizabeth is more of one of best friends than father-daughter, though of course the latter happens as well.**

 **Without further ado...**

Elizabeth got out of Mycroft's car. She waved as it pulled away, and then she walked up to 221B.

Sherlock was lying on the couch, obviously thinking. John glanced up at Elizabeth as she walked in.

"Your father made me text a murderer," John ranted. "And now we are all meeting him!"

"Ooh, cool," Elizabeth was ready for an adventure. She always was. And clearly this was a tricky one, as her father sported three nicotine patches on his arm. "Where are we meeting him?" John just shook his head and muttered something about child endangerment.

"We will stake-out in Angelo's," Sherlock informed her. "I had John text the street across from the restaurant."

"To a murderer!" John reminded them forcefully.

"Oh, let it go," Sherlock swept up and threw on his coat and scarf. Taking that as the cue to leave, Elizabeth and John grabbed their coats as well.

The walk to Angelo's was short. Upon entering the restaurant, Sherlock was reverently thanked by Angelo himself for the billionth time. The trio was escorted to their favorite table: the one with the unobstructed view of the street. It was perfect for stake-outs.

Angelo didn't even ask for their order. Five minutes into the stake-out a fettucine alfredo was set in front of John and Elizabeth was given three garlic knots. Thankfully, Angelo felt forever indebted to the Holmeses, meaning free food. Elizabeth had lost count of how many times they had had to race out before the check came.

"So, Elizabeth," John began, trying to start some conversation. Sherlock was busy staring out the window. "Any new boyfriends?" Though Sherlock seemed very focused on his deductions of the passerby, Elizabeth noticed his ears perk up a bit.

"It's complicated," Elizabeth said tersely. "What about you? Girlfriends? Or have you finally decided to please Mrs. Hudson by getting a boyfriend?"

"No, no new girlfriends," John chuckled. "And never will there ever be a boyfriend, no matter what Mrs. Hudson says. I wonder why she tries so hard to make me gay."

"Oh, I can answer that," Elizabeth said seriously. "She thinks that you and Dad are both lonely, and thus are made for each other."

"She does know that you exist, right?" John asked. "You are alive. Sherlock's daughter. I'm sure that required a woman."

"That's exactly what I said like four days ago," Elizabeth laughed. "But I still think that she wishes you would adopt me."

"If Sherlock and I got married, I would make him hyphenate our names," John joked hypothetically.

"Oh, but I want to change my name to Elizabeth Watson!" Elizabeth argued playfully. "It sounds so cool!"

"He's here," Sherlock's low observation snapped Elizabeth and John to attention. Both set down their forks and hurriedly slid on their jackets. Fortunately they did, because Sherlock leapt from the table with no warning.

Charging after her father, Elizabeth flew through the streets. She saw the taxi they were chasing ahead of them. Sherlock turned away down an alley and led her and John on a tricky, but swift, path. They clambered up fire escapes, leapt across rooftops, and twisted down flights of stairs.

Bursting onto the pavement, Sherlock rushed out into the street, forcing the taxi they were pursuing to hit him. It was only a glancing blow and Sherlock meant to do it, but Elizabeth flinched all the same.

Sherlock wrenched the door of the cab open, facing the man inside. He swore under his breath. Elizabeth and John quickly came to his side, peering in as well.

Elizabeth deduced the man inside rapidly. Damn. It was definitely not their guy. Clearly, this man had just come in from Heathrow.

Sherlock showed the flustered passenger Lestrade's police badge and welcomed him to London. As he waved the taxi on, Elizabeth nudged her father.

"Did you have to steal his badge again?"

"He was being annoying," Sherlock defended, sighing after the cab.

"So just a cab that happened to stop," John said solemnly.

Sherlock nodded, "Not the murderer."

"Dad," Elizabeth pointed down the street, where the taxi had stopped again. The passenger was gesturing their way, talking to a _real_ policeman this time.

"Up for more?" Sherlock asked Elizabeth and John.

"Oh, yes," they said together.

Not sparing another glance at the policeman, they sped off down the street again.


End file.
